


Will you stay?

by deniseeeyy



Category: HOMER - Works, Patrochilles - Fandom, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller, tsoa
Genre: Achilles didn’t, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Best Friends, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, I Love You, I PROMISE THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I hope you enjoy reading :) x, Is that daddy issues I smell?, Is this fandom dying?, I’m bad at summaries, I’m so sorry, Listen to the song attached!, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, More tags will be added when the final chapters are up :), POV Patroclus, Patroclus fought in WW2, Patroclus has trouble opening up, Patroclus left for war at 18, Please Don’t Hate Me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Romantic Fluff, Sad, They are 24, They share a bed together, Yell at me in the comments, sad boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniseeeyy/pseuds/deniseeeyy
Summary: “There is a distinctive tragedy in us humans. We crave the love of others when it isn’t being given, yet refuse it when that same love is being handed to us on a silver platter. We refuse the love we try to give ourselves. We give and we take then we push people away and it’s an endless cycle that goes round and round and back again. Back to the start, back to the drawing board. Let’s do it again, ruin everything.“✯'“Will you stay?”“For as long as you want me to.”✯OR:Patroclus finds it difficult to open up to Achilles about the trauma he endured during WWII, his resolution is to bottle up his emotions and tamper down his pain. To face it by himself. Although, Achilles pleads with him to share his sorrow with him. Patroclus soon has enough of Achilles' persistence and the both of them collide head on in a heated argument that only results in the shattering of their hearts. Fortunately for them, they only manage a few weeks before realising they can barely live without the other. Achilles aids Patroclus in the rocky road to recovery.





	Will you stay?

**Author's Note:**

> ngl i broke my own heart writing this. 
> 
> kudos to my honey, ravi, for reading this beforehand and text-yelling at me for causing her pain. gotta love friends that hype you up. 
> 
> also, kudos to maïté for just being really cool and such a great friend. x 
> 
> the song attached is seriously amazing guys, perfect for sad nugget hours. :) 
> 
> chapter title is one of my favourite quotes from the song of achilles. 
> 
> hope you all enjoy :)

> [Max Richter - When she came back.](https://youtu.be/4TNt3Yu0AJ4)

◦

**The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. **

We bite down on clenched fists and choke on what we’re told are _ Revolutionary Tales._ Scattering pieces of ourselves through words that only contain _ half-truths; _empty words with empty meanings and _ no _ emotions attached. 

Still. Here Achilles and I lay; a mess of limbs and staccato rhythmed heartbeats. _ Hands touching. Our grins the size of watermelon slices. Two hearts as dense as osmium. _ With articles of our beings scattered across my bedroom floor; _ my _ shirt, _ his_. _ His _ jeans, _ my _ shorts. _ My _ holed socks, _ his _ Keds. Our naïvety stays slouched and draped, _ forgotten _ against my recycling bin, waiting to be _ renewed, __reused _ and _ recycled_. _ Renewedreusedrecycled_. _ Again and again and again. _The pattern is never ending, the cycle _ unbreakable. _

Achilles’ fingertips reach for more than just calloused hands. His nails _ barely _ graze the honey stretched skin of my protruding collarbone and he hums along to the song playing from the vinyl that rests on my bedside table. The plucked melodies and harmonies of the guitars are tangled, united together rather messily as though superglued by the voice of the singer in hopes the whole piece won’t fall into calamity. The need to relate the clumsiness of the song to my life is so profoundly overwhelming, however, I’ve no time to think about how the song confuses me nor compare the scintillating tune to my crumbling existence because Achilles bites down on my exposed skin, turning to bury his face into the crook of my neck. 

“_Patroclus_,” he whispers, voice like silk, my name falling like three stones dropping from a great height. I breathe him in, then out, all whilst tangling my fingers into the halo of golden strands atop his head. “What do you know about death?” 

It sounds like a different question leaving his lips. 

_ Patroclus, will you ever tell me about The War? _

The diamond stylus needle scratches against the vinyl. A stuttered breath and then the song halts all together along with my once deftly moving fingers. My room is plunged in silence. The air too thick and palpable, surrounding me where confusing melodies once were.

When I speak, I find that my voice is strained, mimicking the tight feeling in my chest where the pendant of the necklace I gave Achilles rests, burning through my skin as an: “_I probably know more than you,_” shuffles out of my lips.

Similar to his question, my answer sounds like a different one, a vague response wound securely in bubble wrap provided by all the many other times Achilles has asked the same question, in different variations. 

Time moves languidly, creeping up the walls like poison ivy. Achilles’ fingers brush the underside of my jaw and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. _ Everything _ is like a dance with Achilles, a quickstep leading to our own downfalls; we’ve had this conversation one too many times within the last _ month _ that I’ve memorised the whole routine. The _ do’s _ and _ don’ts _ if I may. 

“When will you _ let me in_?” It’s quiet and pleading, dappled in so much sorrow and emotion I can’t bring myself to catch with my bare hands. It’s Achilles asking me to give him a reason, a valid reason as to why I won’t open up. 

I want to tell him I’m _ not _ a flower in spring—that I _ can’t _ and _ won’t _ ever blossom as beautifully. I want to tell him _ I can’t I can’t I can’t. _I want to tell him about everything and anything and _ nothing_. 

I want to tell him about the way the rifle felt so foreign clenched tightly in my hands—hands that were only ever used to holding his heavenly face between them. I want to tell him about all the days and nights I cried and cried until I felt as though I _ couldn’t _anymore. 

I want to tell him how I felt my _ own _ heart _ break _ and _ break _ and _ break some more _ in the span of 6 years as I read the letters he’d send, signed off with a press of his beautiful lips coated in his mother’s lipstick. I want to tell him about the many times _ I _ pressed the pages to _ my _ own lips and how it almost felt as though I was _ actually _ kissing him. Him and I had never—and _ still haven’t—_once established exactly what we were to each other but we both knew, even then, that we were _ more. _ Much _ more _than companions. 

I want to tell him that my heart was fit to burst when I saw him waiting for me outside my Railway Carriage and shattered as soon as we collided and he _ finally _held me in his arms. It felt as though he was merging all my fragmented pieces together. 

I want to tell him that I _ can’t _ tell him any of these things because I fear he won’t _ want _ me anymore. 

I want to tell him that he deserves _ so much better _ than me—that I can’t give him anything but the fractured pieces of my heart that still churn out love for him even though I’m beyond repair. 

But instead, _ because all I ever do is disappoint him, _I shrug and breathe out a long suffering sigh as though his presence alone is exhausting. At times it is. Exhausting, that is. He just seems to have a _ heaviness _ in his soul that demands to _ fix _ everyone he collides with and… _ And _ it’s _ absurd _ really. His desire to _ want _ to fix someone when _ he himself isn’t completely whole _ just completely baffles me to no end. 

“_I can’t._” I say, and the words are accompanied with another sigh that makes him rigid in my arms. 

He moves so quickly, with the fluidity of water. Before I can even _ blink_, Achilles is clutching his shirt against his chest and baring his teeth at me in a violent growl. “_You can’t?_” His question sounds like an earthquake, jumpstarting my heart and my lungs and causing an ache in my chest. He’s hurt. _ I _ did that to him, _ I hurt him _ and it’s _ all _ I ever do. _ Constantly _ hurt him, _ constantly _ let him down. I constantly let _ myself _ down.

He’s so caught up in his emotions that he doesn’t even notice he’s tugging _ my _ shorts instead of _ his _ jeans up his legs. I don’t stop him. Because _ I’m weak_. 

“_Achilles, I-” _

“_No. _No Patroclus. _ No_,” his voice feels like gravel against my feeble knees. Harsh, painful and cutting. _ Angry_. “You _ don’t _ get to do that. _ Not again. _ I _ try _ to help you—”

“_Achilles— _ ” _ He’s putting my socks on and I’m stumbling out of my bed, my feet tangling in the duvet. _

“—and all you _ ever do _ is push me away. You _ always _ push me away and I don’t- _ I don’t know what you want from me. _ I just don’t get it—”

“_Achilles— _ ” _ Wearing his Keds and I’m struggling to catch my breath. _

“I just don’t get _ you, _ Patroclus. _ I don’t._..” _ Standing in front of me in defeat, his exhaustion bleeding through his slouched shoulders and his balled up fists, saturating his slowly dying out voice. _

Achilles Pelides’ eyes are a sad shade of green. His words and his sudden somberness make my heart _ ache and ache and ache _ because _ he’s _ been my best friend since we were _ five _ and _ now _ he’s telling me he _ doesn’t ‘get me’. _

“_You don’t get me? _ ” I laugh. It’s a mirthless one that grates against my throat and shatters my heart all the more. And _ I hate myself_. Hate. _ That’s _ an emotion so potent it travels through my soul, latching onto the little gaiety that drenches my being.

I suppose it’s an indescribable sort of pain, to hear your _ best friend, _ of all people, say they _ don’t get you_. It’s a different kind of pain, one that creates a perpetual festering wound in your soul, one that _ hurts _ and _ burns _ and leaves an ugly stain behind. When trust is broken, nothing remains but a wretched scar, a discoloured blemish right over your tenuous chest. It’s a chainsaw rearing its ugly head at your heart, threatening to nick at your heartstrings until they tear. It perforates your lungs and you can no longer breathe for fear of losing _ everything._

_I’ve _ lost everything. 

And there’s something shattering in me. It’s loud and violent in my ears and my eyes burn but I _ shove _ down a sob that climbs it’s way up my throat. Because _ no. _ I will _ not cry _in front of Achilles. 

“It must be your lucky day, _Achilles_, because there _isn’t anything to_ _get_ anyway.” My words are barely _there_. I can hardly catch them before they push their way through clenched teeth. “_You_ don’t get me? Well welcome to the _fucking _club, because _I_ don’t get me either. Make sure you take a fucking pamphlet on _‘What-there-is-to-get-about-Patroclus’_ on your way out.” I turn away from him then, though the look on his face will forever be seared into my mind. It’s one that speaks volumes of his hurt. _All I ever do is hurt him. _And his crestfallen look _should_ make me feel pleased, shouldn't it? Except all it does is make me want to take back my noxious words and take away his unhappiness. I want to carry his misery along with my own. 

“Patroclus, I didn’t _ mean _it like that, I-” 

“_Oh _ but you _ did, _ Achilles. You _ did mean it like that _ and it _ stings _ to hear you say such a thing. You’ve _ really _ hurt me, Achilles. _ You have._” 

“_Patroclus_...” 

_ Pa-tro-clus._

_ One. Two. Three. _

This time the careful tumbling of my name from his lips embodies the sound of the severed pieces of our hearts colliding and collapsing on cold glass tiles. 

He touches me, his hands pressing into my bare shoulder and turning me back around to look at him. His warm, tentative touch against my cold skin says _ ‘Please’ _ and _ ‘Look at me, please Patroclus’ and, ‘Give me a chance’ _ and I can't for the _ life _ of me find it in myself to refuse his pleas. So I give in. I press myself into his touch as much as I can and level him with a look that screams for him to _ fix this, _ to _ make it better_. To fix _ us_. To fix _ me. Please. _And Achilles spews a bouquet of clumsy words. 

He says, “When you went to fight in that War, it was as though my heart went with you.”

He says, “I couldn’t...I couldn’t _function _without you. I felt so...so _incomplete _and _empty_ and _so_ _fucking _terrified all the time and I _didn’t know_ how to-” 

He says, “I didn’t know _ how _ to get rid of my anxiety and just _ live _without you by my side.”

He says, “I was so _ scared_. _ Everyday _ that you were gone was _ torture_. I was afraid you _ wouldn’t _ come back to me. And I _ knew _ that I _ wouldn’t _ have been _ able _ to live _ without you- _I _ know _ that I _ can’t _ live without you, _ Patroclus._”

He says, “And I’m so _ scared _ all the time. I _ keep _ thinking something’s going to take you away any moment now and I’m _ sorry.” _

He says, “I’m _ sorry _ I keep _ pushing you _ but it’s _ for your own good, _Patroclus. I just want you to _ talk _ to me. I _ need _you to talk to me.”

He says, “Because...you _ hardly _ do. You’ve _ changed_. You don’t talk to me anymore and sometimes it’s like _ you’re not here_, or _ there._”

He says, “It’s like you’re _ stuck _ in this abyss of nothingness and I’m _ trying _ to be your tether. I’m _ trying _ to bring you back but you _ won’t hold on _ and _ it hurts._”

He says, “I _miss you, _Patroclus. _The_ _old you_. And I _miss_ _everything_ we used to do _together_.” 

He says, “You’re my _ best friend_, _ you know _ I’d do _ anything _for you.”

He says, “I _ love _ you Patroclus, _ all _ the different versions of you. _ I love them all._” 

And in my mind, the room is in disarray. A supernova explosion has obliterated my lungs and my heart. Pieces of myself are scattered everywhere, melding with the floor and the walls. The ceiling is crashing heavily down on the both of us; Achilles and I, crushing our bodies to powdered ceramic dust.

In my mind there is _ nothing, nothing, nothing _ but screaming. The universe is expanding up and out of me, polluting the air around us with light and darkness both intertwined. It hurts so much, so much that I _ can’t _breathe. 

In my mind, my room is _pulsating_. I can _hear _the faded melody of the complicated song from earlier _ringing_ in my ears and Achilles’ eyes are freckled with sadness. Everything is bright but dark and muted. Quiet but not quiet enough. I’m _here_ but I’m not. I'm here and Achilles is here and he’s _touching_ me, his fingers _still_ burning into my shoulder and he’s _still_ talking and _I’m here_. _I’m_ _alive. _I’m_ alive _and _breathing _but I’m _breaking_ and _hurting _all over. 

But that’s only in my mind. 

In reality there is only the soft melancholic timbre of Achilles’ voice as he tells me he _ loves _ me again and again and again and _ I know _ he’s trying to _ help_, _ I know _ he’s trying his best and trying to shake me out of whatever funk I’ve been in since I came back but it’s _ not helping. He can’t love me. He just can’t. _It’s making everything worse and I just. 

“Achilles,” I choke out. His hand falls away from my shoulder. _ I just want the pain to end. _ “You _ don’t _ understand.” My fingers grip onto my bedside table and I’ve never sounded this small. I’ve never _ felt _ this _ small. __I just want the pain to end. _ “_You _ weren't _ there._ _I was. I was there _ and I have _ so much pain _ inside my heart and I’m _ harbouring _ an _ ongoing _ war inside my head because of it. And I’ll _ never _ be the same. _ How can I be the same after what happened? _ I _ can't _ just _ forget_, Achilles. That’s _ not _ how it works.” _ I just want the pain to end. _

Tears glisten in Achilles’ eyes and I’m _ aching_. “I’m not _ asking _ you to forget, Patroclus. I’m _ asking _ you to _ let me in_. I’m _ asking _ you to share your sorrow _ with me_. Don’t you remember what we promised each other when we were 8? We said _ we _ were “_in this together”. _ We _ are _in this together.” 

When I don’t say anything, Achilles’ gaze falters, fluttering from me, to my bed—the bed that we laid tangled in each other’s arms not even an hour ago—to the clothes littered on my floor that are _mostly_ _his_ seeing as he’s wearing _my _clothes, to the door and back to me again. And although his gaze faltered for a few seconds, his voice does not. Achilles plummets on and his words are a different type of agony even _I _couldn’t have anticipated. 

“I _want this_, Patroclus. _Whatever_ _this _is. I want this. I want _you_. And… And if _you_ want this too then _show _me. _Let me in.” _

_ I just want the pain to end. _

“_No…_” The word scratches my throat and tangles with the dry sob escaping me. _ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. _

“_No_?” Achilles’ voice cracks mid-word and I _ feel _my heart break with it.

_ I just want the pain to end. _

“I don’t…” I heave in a breath that does nothing but remind me how irrevocably _hollow _I am. “I don’t think I can _do_ _this_ anymore, Achilles. _I can’t_. I’m sorry but _I can’t. _If you can’t trust that there are _just_ some things that I can’t _mentally _prepare myself to tell you about, then… I don’t know. I don’t think I can… I _can’t_ carry on doing _this, _whatever _this _is.” 

Now it’s Achilles’ turn to not say anything and I can physically _ feel _ my heart revolting against my ribcage, wanting to collapse in his hands. 

I want so badly to caress him, to take his face into my hands and to press our foreheads together and to tell him… I want so badly to tell him I _ love _ him _ too. _But instead, I watch the beam of light that shines itself directly at Achilles. I watch the way that light _ illuminates _ him and he’s so _ beautiful. _ So _ devastatingly perfect _ with soft edges and angelic features and I _ know _what I’m about to say will be the best. Not for me, but for him. 

So I force myself to take another breath. I force myself to watch as the dust motes swirl around his _ beautiful _ body, caressing him the way _ I _ wish I could. I force myself to stand taller, to deliver the blow I’m about to land “_like a man_” because that’s what my father taught me to do. 

I force myself to _not_ cry even though my heart is stuttering and shaking in my chest. I’m _not_ going to cry, I’m going to _stand_ _here_ and _take_ the aftermath of these words and I’m _not_ going to _fucking _cry because my father told me that “_tears are for pussies. For little boys with lights from candles burning bright in their eyes and their hearts and their souls and not for men.” _Tears aren’t for men so I’m _not_ going to cry because _I’m_ 24 and I fought in the War and have endured these pains _like a man_ and I bear these scars as proof. 

I’m going to stand here, look Achilles _ in the eyes. _ I’m going to look him in the eyes _ like a man_, _ like my father would_. Except my father would _ never _ be caught _ dead _ half naked with another man. He’d probably beat me half to death if he wasn’t already dead himself and could see me now, about to break my heart and the heart of the man I love. 

“I think… I think we just need some time apart.” _It_ _hurts. _“I need to be alone for a while. I need to be _my _own friend for a few weeks.” 

Tears have never looked so beautiful but as they stream down Achilles’ face, I can't help but notice how elegantly they fall, leaking from his sombre green eyes. “_But I’ve only just got you…_” His words are nothing more than a gasp that pricks my heart all the same. 

And I scramble for words of acute assurances even though I feel as though _ I’m lying through my teeth. _ “You’re not losing me Achilles. I just… I just _ need _ some space, okay? Some time to _ think,_ to sort myself out and to find happiness within _ myself. _I can't _ fully love _ and _ commit _ myself to you if I don’t love myself first. It isn’t fair on you.” _ And it’s not fair on me either. _

“_Patroclus…_” _ I’m never going to get the choked sound of his voice saying my name out of my head. _

He goes to reach for me then, but I involuntarily flinch and he cries _ harder. I’m in agony. I just want the pain to end. Tears are for little boys with lights from candles burning bright in their eyes and their hearts and their souls and not for men. Tears are for little boys and not for men. Tears are for little boys and not for men. I just want the pain to end. Tears are not for men. Tears are not for- _I clear my throat once more. 

“You should go.” It takes everything in me to utter the words and my voice sounds _ nothing _ like me. I sound _ cutting _ and _ cold. I sound just like my father. __It’s for the best, it’s for the best. Tears are not for men. _

“_Philtatos…_” 

I suck in a breath and hold it, long enough for the dust motes to disperse and for the light beam to taper off. Long enough for a new wave of tears to shake Achilles’ whole body. _ I’m so cruel. _

_ “No_.” I sound less like my father now and more like I did when I was a timid, stupid little boy. I don’t know which I prefer. “No, no, no, no, _ no_. _ Please_.” _ Men don’t cry. “Don’t._ _Please._ Just _ go_, _ please _ Achilles, _ please_!” _ Men are cruel and they’re harsh and they shout just like I am right now. They shout and they wreak havoc and they don’t fucking cry. _

_ I will not break. I will not break. I will not break. _

And I don't think _ anything _ will ever _ hurt _ me _ more _ than the pain in Achilles’ eyes when he looks at me one last time before he leaves, his footsteps heavy but the weight of the sadness in his heart and in the air, heavier. 

I barely hear the main door of my house close before I sink to the floor. The carpet burns and itches my knees but that’s hardly distracting me from the overwhelming wound in my heart and the eerie white noise clouding my mind. 

_ I will not break. I will not break. I will not_—

And I’m _ breaking_. _ Shattering. __Colliding _ headfirst with the overwhelming desire to _ shake _ and _ sob _ and _ I’m so sad I’msosadI’msosad _ and I’ve _ never _ felt this much _ sadness _ before, not even when my father told me _ I’d “never amount to anything good”,_ not even when my mother died and I was sure my life was _ plummetingplummetingplummeting,_ not even when my hands were _ drenched in another man’s blood _ and _ all _ I _ wanted _ to do was _ scrub myself raw. __I’ve never been this sad. _

I _ think _ too much and I _ feel too much_. 

There is a distinctive tragedy in us humans. We _ crave _ the love of others when it isn’t being given, yet refuse it when _ that same love _ is being handed to us on a silver platter. We refuse the love _ we _ try to give _ ourselves. _ We give and we take then we push people away and it’s an endless cycle that goes round and round and back again. Back to the start, back to the drawing board. Let’s do it again, _ ruin everything._

And maybe if I were _ smarter_, _ stronger_, _ mentally healthier, _I _ wouldn’t _ be feeding my self-destructive tendencies. Maybe if I wasn’t so _ broken _ and _ bruised_. Wasn’t so _ hollowed _ and _ sad_. _ Maybe then _ I could change everything. But I’m _ all _ of these things so I _ can’t. _

_I just want the pain to end, and my father said tears aren’t for men but here I am. Here I fucking am, crying like a tired child. I’m not a man. My father is probably rolling in his grave right this minute because he raised a pathetic little boy not worthy enough to be deemed a man. _

_ I’m not a man. _

But what I _ am _is so used to falling apart. 

**Author's Note:**

> please don’t hate me haha.  
i pinky promise the next chapter is going to be a fix it chapter. (coming probably at the end of this week x) 
> 
> take a shot (OF WATER/JUICE) every time patroclus said ‘i just want the pain to end’ or ‘men don’t cry’ lmao. 
> 
> i started writing this in bloody AUGUST and found the strength yesterday to kick my writer’s block in the ass and WRITE. writer’s block can from now on smd :) 
> 
> sorry, this is unbeta’d because i don’t have a beta, but if you notice any mistakes, be sure to point them out to me, please. x 
> 
> today is the last day of my half-term holiday, school starts again tomorrow and seriously? year 13 is kicking my ass lmao. three cheers to education! 
> 
> thanks for taking the time to read this x


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